


Woke Anew (With Touch Like Feathers)

by LooxLikeAlix



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Overthinking, crowley doesn't know what to do with himself (as usual), hand holding, sensory overloads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-08-23 12:44:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20243068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooxLikeAlix/pseuds/LooxLikeAlix
Summary: Weeks after saving the world, Crowley woke up from a nap with a new sensation that he didn’t know how to process. Aziraphale was both appalled that the demon hadn’t felt this before and delighted to show him the possibilities.Basically Crowley having both sensory overloads and way too many feelings. Because him being flustered just because he’s holding hands with Aziraphale is the most precious thing ever.“Doooo you remember when you started to- aaah… to feel?”“What do you mean feel?”“Yeaaaah… you know, feel. Like, with your fingers and stuff.” Despite the sunglasses he wasn’t looking directly at the confusion in the angel’s face. He was afraid it would make it way too clear how much out of his depth he was.





	Woke Anew (With Touch Like Feathers)

**Author's Note:**

> Be patient with me, English is my third language and I haven’t written fics in years.

It was weird when the world didn’t actually end. To begin with, Crowley realized that he didn’t have a job anymore. He was still a demon as far as he knew, and annoying humans was still too fun to stop doing it, but without specific orders to follow or paperwork to fill, he suddenly discovered himself with a bit too much free time in his hands.

It was similar for Aziraphale. You couldn’t keep him from doing small miracles for humans and being generally too nice even if you tried, but he didn’t have to do any reports for the time being. The main difference between them was that the angel had reopened his bookshop, and avoiding customers and getting new books kept him quite entertained most days. Meanwhile Crowley had basically nothing to do. And looking for a hobby sounded too annoying, so he napped. Or at least he tried to.

The first weeks both of them had still been on edge, double checking from time to time that they weren’t being followed and meeting more than they used to before. But after a month they were quite sure that it was safe, and they slowly returned to something closer to normalcy. For Crowley that meant going to sleep non-stop for at least a month.

The original plan, of course, didn’t include to be woken up when the door of his flat was literally blown apart by a distressed angel after not having any news from him in four days. After convincing the neighbours that there was no reason to call the police, Aziraphale had demanded to be texted the next time Crowley decided to take a long nap.

“You haven’t bought a phone since 2001” had retorted the demon while miracling the screws of his door back into place.

“And still each time you find a new _ meme _on the internet you manage to send it to me. Save me the worries and just tell me next time.” Crowley was about to mock the disdained way he had said the word meme when the angel added “Or just sleep at my place instead.”

Aziraphale was swapping the floor with a broom that the demon was sure was never in his flat before and he wasn’t looking up, so Crowley didn’t know what to think about the offer. During the whole _ everything around us is going to die _ turning into _ we are now free-er but we won’t talk about how that means we weren’t free before _ they have been closer than ever. But sleeping on the back of the bookshop would probably be too much, and Crowley really didn’t want to be pushy.

His resolve to not nap didn’t last for too long. He started overthinking about his lack of employment (he had decided that that was a nicer way to put it instead of calling it  _ not even Hell wants me around _ ), so sleeping seemed like a great idea again.

He thought about texting Aziraphale something like _ will you storm into my flat again if i take another nap? _ or maybe _ don’t break any doors while i’m sleeping _ , but in actuality a part of him had liked that the angel had been worried about him. In the end he had settled with a simple _ going to sleep, will contact when i get up _ and turned off the phone before he felt tempted to wait for an answer.

* * *

When Crowley emerged from the nap it was with a weird itchy feeling and two thoughts in his mind: it had only been a week, and Aziraphale had been in his flat. The first one was obvious from his demonic senses and the TV news that he could hear from his next door neighbour, and the second one he just inferred from the relaxed smell coming from the plants. They were content in a way that reminded him to when the angel was posing as him, and Crowley turned uncomfortably in bed letting himself wallow a bit in the memories.

One day he was going to ask Aziraphale what had happened when Hell basically kidnapped him. He wanted to know the look on the faces of the demons he despised when they saw him not dying. One day Crowley was also going to lie about what had happened when Heaven had fucking tried to kidnap Aziraphale. He never wanted him to know the look on the faces of the angels he respected when they were trying to kill him.

Thinking of Heaven and Hell, he should be worried about both, right? Even if now Beelzebub, Hastur and the rest were afraid of him that didn’t mean that Gabriel asshole couldn’t try to send another angel to thwart him. Oh, _ fuck _, what if Hell decided to go after Aziraphale? Crowley closed his eyes again and tried to get rid of the idea. It hadn’t been so long after the aftermath, they had time to prepare for that, the angel had been fine if he had come to water his plants. The idea was still worrisome, and between that and the weird crawling in his skin he knew that going back to sleep wasn’t an option now. 

He got up off the bed and miracled on fresh not-wrinkled clothes, realizing with surprise that he still had a weird sensation on his skin. He had thought that it had been caused by twisting the sheets in a weird position or something like that, but it seemed like it wasn’t the case. Wondering about what could it be, he walked into the living room. Aziraphale presence was obvious once more, with the jacket that the demon had thrown to the floor at some point carefully folded on a chair, the plants wonderfully green but jumping a bit when they realized he was awake, and a wool tartan scarf forgotten on his sofa.

Crowley picked up the scarf and then he knew for sure that something was wrong. The scarf was wrong. Or he was wrong. He wasn’t sure what was going on exactly but something was definitely _ Not Right _ in his hand. He knew how wool felt like, and this was not it. This was _ too much _, the feeling similar to what anyone would expect but somehow brighter in his fingertips.

He threw it back on the sofa, startled, and tried to rub his hands against his trousers to get rid of the weird feeling. But the fabric on his clothes, rough on his now too-awake skin felt even worse. Or more intense. He wasn’t sure which one. Crowley looked at his hands and flexed his fingers confused. There was probably nothing wrong with the scarf that Aziraphale had bought a couple years ago. There was definitely nothing wrong with the clothes that he has wished on minutes ago. What was wrong with _ him _then?

Crowley had a frightening new thought. Could the people from Hell shut his body? Or Gabriel shut Aziraphale’s? He knew they better take good care of the ones they had now, but were they in danger? Before he could go too deep into that he suddenly understood.

“Oh- oh! Ohhh… I get it now!” he said out loud before staring at the ceiling. He knew that looking up didn’t affect anything, but it made him feel that his intensity was more focused. “Is this supposed to be a fucking reward for saving the world? Because some good whisky would have been way nicer! And less! fucking! confusing!”

The yelling made him feel a bit better, but he still wasn’t sure what to do now. If he understood the situation correctly, his body was trying to have “normal” “human” reactions and sensations that he usually had no use for and therefore had had muted for centuries. It was very annoying, and a bit worrisome that it had happened without any warning, but maybe it was the price to pay to deflect from Hell, to become more human.

Crowley shook his head to avoid thinking about that, and he tried to focus on a solution instead. He concentrated hard on _ not _feeling with his hand, he grabbed Aziraphale’s scarf again. The sensation was not there this time and he sighted. Ok, at least it was no irreversible, just a bit out of control. That was good news. But forcing himself to not feel the wool in his hand was not pleasant exactly, and the longer he tried to hold it the trickier it got. Annoyed with himself, he let the scarf fall back on the sofa and stared at it. Trying to not lose standing with the houseplant was the only thing preventing him from pouting.

“Feeling sucks” he mumbled. The amount of things that he was trying not to think about was starting to be too much.

* * *

Crowley doubted before walking into the Bentley, but the idea of not driving when he was distressed was even worse than dealing with the skin sensations. Closing his eyes he got in as fast as he could, trying not to think too much about the feelings in his fingers. All of his skin felt weird, but his hands were the worst, and he assumed that the rest of his body just had gotten used to his clothes faster.

He had intended to do a couple loops around London and maybe cause some mayhem in his way, but not long after getting in the car he found himself parking next to Aziraphale’s bookshop. He was thinking about driving away and maybe returning later when his phone rang.

He was tempted to ignore it, but not picking up Aziraphale right in front of his door felt just wrong, so he wished the speaker on. He had wasted so much energy already to reduce all the feelings that a bit more to pick up the phone seemed like nothing.

“Hi, angel.”

“Hello Crowley, it’s Aziraphale.”

He sounded as calm and soothing as always and the tips of Crowley fingers itched a bit again. _ Just act normal, he doesn’t need to know that something fucking weird is going on with your body. Not yet. _

“You don’t have to introduce yourself,” he said instead. “You know my phone has your number.”

“And you don’t have to pretend you are not outside. You know my shop has windows. Come on in, I made tea.”

The randomness of the angel’s manners always got a mix of annoyance and amusement from Crowley, but this time he was almost grateful when he got immediately hung up, since that meant not even having the chance to invent an excuse to not get inside.

Crowley miracled the door of the bookshop open and sauntered in, letting it close loudly behind him and making the bell ring extra long to announce his presence. He thought that it was rude that the shop was completely empty and his display of _ everything is normal, not that I care about normal _had been wasted. He felt the angel wish the sign to “Closed” in the door, so he continued to the room in the back where Aziraphale had already set up a couple tea cups on the small round table and was grabbing some cookies from a cupboard.

“Did you sleep well?”

Crowley opted for doing a non-committal noise and wondered if the angel would start to feel the need to sleep. If he was also in danger of becoming more human. But maybe the rules were different for angels.

He walked around the room while Aziraphale finished setting up the tea and suddenly realized that it would be weird to just stand, so he held his breath, blocked his touch and sat down on the armchair. He was concentrating so hard on easing himself into the way he could feel the clothes around his body that he missed most of the updates the angel had about how Adam and the rest were doing, but he was aware of the change of tone when Aziraphale asked:

“Is there a reason why you were in the Bentley until I called you?”

“I- I was waiting for you to have the tea ready.” For a Hell denizen, Crowley had never been that good at lying and this time he hadn’t even really tried to, the words exiting his mouth taking the shape of an almost question. The angel answered with a frown.

“Is everything all right?”

“Well, I had no news from Hell, and I suppose none from Heaven either.”

“I haven’t heard anything either. But-” Crowley knew Aziraphale was going to ask again so he just leaned forward and kept talking.

“And if- if I understood you correctly everyone in Oxfordshire is doing well, so no, no problem, looks like everything around us is fine and dandy and we don’t have to worry about the world exploding or our respective superiors trying to kill us. Ho- h- how are you?”

He wanted to take a sip of tea just to do something with his hands and prevent himself to talk even more nonsense. He also wanted the tea to be a whisky. Maybe the sensations would be less _ too much _ if he was drunk. But his untouched cup was still steaming a bit and he was pretty sure that if he touched it now he would have even more problems keeping up with a conversation.

Aziraphale sounded even more cautious now, the worry palpable in his face and in his voice.

“I’m good- Crowley, what is going on?”

Crowley opened and closed his mouth a couple times before thinking _ fuck it _.

“Doooo you remember when you started to- aaah… to feel?”

“What do you mean feel?”

“Yeaaaah… you know, _ feel _. Like, with your fingers and stuff.” Despite the sunglasses he wasn’t looking directly at the confusion in the angel’s face. He was afraid it would make it way too clear how much out of his depth he was.

“You mean touch? Is your body not working correctly?” there was more worry in his voice, and Crowley remember the fears he had also had a couple hours ago. He reminded himself that if Heaven or Hell had the ability to ruin their bodies, they would have already done it by now.

“Nah, no, I don’t think so, no. Is just that I usually have, like, the minimum input from touch and that kind of thing and I think it has increased while I was napping.”

“You mean by itself?”

“Well, yea- yeah, I have it mostly muted.”

“You have your touch muted all the time?” Aziraphale looked appalled at the idea.

“Don’t look at me like that, angel, it’s not like it’s especially useful in my line of work.” That’s when Crowley remembered again that technically he didn’t have a job at the time and that he was probably due to have an identity crisis about it. He was glad to be quickly pushed from that thought.

“But you don’t need your taste either and I know that you’ve been using that sense at the very least since ancient Rome!” Aziraphale cried.

“That’s just because you made it sound like fun!”

There was a tiny pause followed by two quick blinks and an almost whisper “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, you know, you were trying to tempt me talking and talking about the textures and flavours and- and all that so enthusiastically that I got curious and activated it from that moment.”

“And you had never tasted anything before?!” Crowley had been wrong, _ now _was when the angel was truly horrified, and he felt the need to defend himself.

“I had tasted alcohol! And you know how it works, even if you use your body to do human things you just mute the feelings and senses and stuff if you don’t need them. Descorporalizations would be an even bigger pain in the ass if we didn’t do that.”

He was about to point out that as far as he knew angels were supposed to do the same, but before he had the chance Aziraphale started listing wonderful foods from centuries ago, seemingly devastated that Crowley had never tried them.

He let the angel keep going for a bit, but when he moved back in the armchair his hand dragged unintentionally over its fabric. That wasn’t soft. Not unpleasant either, but it felt very different from the wool of Aziraphale’s scarf or the shirt that he had on. He started to feel that between the nice background sound of the angel’s voice and his brain trying to process the texture he was drifting away.

“Ehhh… Angel, can we go back to the topic at hand? No pun intended.”

“Oh gosh, yes! Sorry, my dear, I got carried away. So you are really touching things for the first time?”

“Something like that. I guess I’m not sure how to process the sensations…” He really wanted to ask if that was normal, but he wasn’t sure if Aziraphale would remember how his transition was like. It also felt incredibly vulnerable to phrase it like that, but he preferred to focus on the other reason to not ask it.

“Like any other feeling, I suppose.” He was clearly trying to look for some advice to give and coming up a bit empty. “It’s like getting drunk, look for the good stuff and if gets too much or too out of place just miracle it away.”

“There’s never too much alcohol for us, angel. And that usually feels good. This is just _ weird _.”

“Ohhh but it can be very good! Like if you find a really soft fabric, or get your hand in a bowl of marbles, or if you touch a person and…”

“I don’t plan on going around touching people!”

“Even if you don’t, it can…” his voice drifted off.

“What?” Crowley stared at him for a couple seconds. While a moment before Aziraphale had been enthusiastic, whatever had crossed his mind had left him now looking at the demon with a softness that was making him a bit uncomfortable. “Aziraphale?”

“You’ve never touched anybody?” his voice was painfully careful.

“Ahhh- I- I’ve touched people in a practical way, like pushing them in the tube or s- something like that.” He knew he sounded defensive again, but it was hard not to when apparently he never experienced or valued something that Aziraphale seemed to be able to enjoy so much. “I’ve just never relished touches or or or… or caressed someone. That’s more up your ally!”

“It is, isn’t it?” the angel murmured, still looking at him with something that was not quite pity but that was making Crowley nervous.

“Even if I wanted to tempt someone with lust I wouldn’t need to touch them,” he added.

“I wasn’t talking about that. Even a light touch can feel really nice and meaningful. And it can also be a way of communicating without talking, like- it would mean something if we were holding hands and you squeezed mine for a moment, or if we held pinkies, or…”

“That seems nice,” interrupted Crowley. He had tried to sound sarcastic because pinky-holding sounded like a really stupid idea, but a part of his brain was actually picturing doing it with Aziraphale and he didn’t quite manage to have the correct tone.

“It would be!” the angel grinned before realising his words. “Not that we need to try that! I mean-! Not that you have to try that with anyone in general. They were just random examples.”

Crowley relished a bit not being the flustered one in the conversation before murmuring “I wouldn’t mind touching you, angel, you should know that by now.”

“Well, I just discovered that even if I wanted to do it you wouldn’t even feel it until now, so pardon me if I’m cautious.”

Crowley thought about it for a moment. Had that been a mistake on his part? He has always known that the angel appreciated- no, he _ loved _ sensations. Maybe if he had offered that their relationship would have been different before. But the thought sat wrong with him. Aziraphale couldn’t mean it like that, right?

“Would it have changed something?”

“Change what?”

“Ehh… ahh… _ this _,” he flapped his hand between them trying to encompass more than 6000 years with a vague gesture. “Would have it changed your speed if I had tried feeling whatever this is before? Like I did with the eating thing?” Crowley had tried to sound casual when asking, but the angel response was hurried.

“Oh, goodness, no! No, my dear, not at all! I’m just a bit sad that you never experienced something that I think it’s wonderful, but we don’t always agree on what’s wonderful so it’s perfectly fine if you don’t like or don’t want it. I don’t see the point of sleeping and you don’t like reading, we don’t need to always like the same things all the time to be… Oh, I’m getting carried away again, aren’t I?”

“A bit, yeah.”

Aziraphale inhaled and started again more slowly “What I mean is that… _ this _” and he imitated Crowley’s previous gesture, “was never and will never dependent on that kind of thing.”

Crowley wanted him to say on what kind of thing was dependent, wanted to ask him if the angel had an idea of what was going on exactly between them. Because his own feelings had moved centuries ago beyond _ like _ and _ care _ and other four-letter words that he wasn’t supposed to say, and had done so in a messy way that he didn’t know how to untangle. But saying those things out loud would break one of their unspeakable agreements, wouldn’t it?

“You know” he sighed, “we are already way too good at not saying certain things out loud.”

“Oh, I think you are great at saying all sorts of things out loud.”

“And you are great at pretending to not understand what I’m saying.”

“… point taken” the angel admitted.

“Should we try… ehmm… talking things out loud? We have been doing_ this _ …” Crowley repeated the gesture between them before realizing that that was precisely the point he was trying to make. “We have been friends for 6000 years and I… mmm… I care about you. And you love feeling _ things _ and and- and apparently touching people and now our bosses are not checking on us anddd _ Imaywant _ to know for sure if _ youwanttotouchmyhand _o- or something.”

“Or something?”

“Meet me halfway, angel, would you?”

“My dear, you are an intelligent being, you must know that I love you. And” he interrupted whatever Crowley was going to say before he could even open his mouth “I don’t mean it only in an angelical-general way. I love you in a very specific way that, well, used to be problematic but now apparently isn’t anymore.”

To be fair, Crowley had been the one to start the conversation, but he hadn’t thought that Aziraphale was going to go _ there _ that fast, and he wasn’t sure how to answer. His own feelings were also in the same direction, but the centuries avoiding even thinking about the L-word just in case his bosses found out (or Aziraphale found out, if he was being honest with himself) made it now difficult to just say anything out loud.

“You’ve ehhh… you’ve changed you usual position about _ this _.”

“We avoided the end of the world and apparently _ this _ is part of the ineffable plan. I have no reason to argue against something that is only wrong in the eyes of beings that tried to kill us.” He sounded so at peace with this new perspective that Crowley envied him.

“I can’t argue with that.”

“And for the record, my love for you includes wanting to hold your hand or try whatever you are interested in doing with your body.”

Crowley didn’t want to _ try whatever _with his body. Not now that the sensations were so overwhelming. Maybe never, but he was still new at the whole thing and was getting used to it. It was confusing to know that now Aziraphale was so ahead of him on knowing what he wanted.

“That’s good to know” he just answered, and it was true.

The angel just smiled and they both stayed silent for a comfortable moment. Crowley’s hand was getting used to the surface of the armchair, and he carefully dragged the tip of his finger over the fabric noticing it like never before the texture. After having such a crazy day, just re-learning something that he was so familiar with in a new way seemed trivial, but at the same time it wasn’t.

Maybe all of this was good. Maybe if Crawley could just ease himself into this _ not-working-for-Hell _ thing and this _ actually-feeling-with-his-fingers _ thing, then this _ knowing-that-Aziraphale-loved-him _thing would also be alright.

He looked up when Aziraphale put down his tea cup and spoke again.

“So, do you want to do it?”

“Wh- what?!” Crowley spluttered.

“Well, I would really love to hold your hand, but we can do it whenever you are ready.”

There was an earnest expression on Aziraphale’s face, similar to the one he usually had when offering some piece of dessert that he particularly loved, but softer. Crowley instinctually gulped and looked away.

“Ye- yeah, ok, sure, if you want to” he spluttered and pretended to ignore the pleased smile in Aziraphale’s face.

The angel put his hand on the table between them, palm up and fingers doing the tiniest wiggle, and Crowley felt the heat creeping up on his face. He had started letting his body have some natural human responses centuries ago and part of him was regretting it. The other part just took a shaky breath and moved his hand towards the angel’s.

The first words that came to Crowley’s mind were _ soft _ and _ warm _ , dangerous four-letter words, but if he didn’t really work as a demon anymore that meant he could also use the word _ nice _, right?

The angel’s hand was incredibly careful while surrounding his, and he realized that his own fingers were trembling. The intensity of the textures he had been rediscovering that day was nothing compared to really touching Aziraphale for the first time, and now he could understand why the word _ feel _had so many meanings. For the first time since he woke up, not-thinking was suddenly very easy and tempting, and he let himself to just enjoy the contact.

Crowley knew how being overwhelmed felt (the _ not-quite-the-End-of-the-World _whole thing was still recent), but this was different. Knowing that he was risking a more unwanted touch, he let his head drop on his free arm and rested himself over the table, hiding his face. The fabric of his sleeve close to his face was worth hiding the furious blush that he didn’t have the energy to miracle away.

“My dear?”

“...‘s all good” he mumbled to answer the tiny worry in Aziraphale’s voice.

It was  _ good _ . It was also very much, and very nice, and it felt like the culmination of something. It was something that Crowley had never allowed himself to think about, and that now that he had it was saturating his mind with such  contentment  that words were escaping him.

“You are probably going to kill me for asking this but…” in the brief pause he heard over the pounding of his heart, Crowley felt the angel trying to suppress a grin. “Is this too fast for you, Crowley?”

“Shut u-up…”

His voice sounded tiny and he didn’t have any free brain cell to care about it, because at that moment Aziraphale started to rub his thumb over the side of his hand and Crowley couldn’t help but shiver. _ Like alcohol _ the angel had said. Then feeling quite drunk and overloaded with the touch was normal, right?

He exhaled loudly and gave the angel the tiniest squeeze. Everything would be alright after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know if it made sense and I don’t care that much if it didn’t, I really enjoyed writing this. I hope you enjoyed reading it.
> 
> This pair is wonderfully asexual in canon, so my original idea (more M-rated tbh) shifted to be closer to that when I actually started writing. My thinking was that their physical bodies are only devices they have to move around, so it made sense that they have most human “features” deactivated or muted so they can do their jobs more efficiently.
> 
> If I feel inspired I might continue it with more new experiences for Crowley and his body, but it is unlikely, so if anyone else wants to run away with this idea please do and send me a link (especially if it involves his hair or his wings being ruffled).
> 
> I’ll be forever grateful if you leave a comment, and you can find me on Twitter under @calixcapicua where I love to 1) retweet fanarts and 2) not make much sense in Spanish.


End file.
